Dead Stars
by morrigan the undead
Summary: Bella was extremely traumatized after HE left, and after an accident suffers selective amnesia as a result. She has no memory of her life in Forks. Will the two of them still be able to fight fate? How will Victoria & the Volturi play into this? R & R!
1. Prologue

I stood at the edge, teetering.

The wind blew at me from all sides, making me sway back and forth. All I could hear was the gale howling at my ears.

The ocean's salty tang penetrated my nostrils, coupled with the light sprinkling of rain from above. For a wild moment I thought that the universe was doing what I haven't been able to for the longest time: crying.

I dared to sneak a look down, and I could see the rough patches of rock dotting the seascape below. The waters swirled about angrily, as if impatient for its newest prey to fall.

Me.

Was this where it all began? Where I died?

Where someone else was born in my place?

I let go of the blanket, and the wind whipped it immediately away from my grasp.

At the back of my mind I was amazed at my strange calm. No, not calm, I corrected myself. I was numb. My heart-the essence of it-has long been dead for a year. I was a living, breathing corpse.

I close my eyes, and I step forward.

I remember thinking the fall was surprisingly short. Before I hit the water, I wanted to whisper my parents' names.

But it was _his_ that came to mind....


	2. Birth

**Hi reader! Sorry not to have introduced myself earlier. You can call me Morrigan, and thanks for taking the time to read my story. **

**Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are property of Stephenie Meyer. I just wish I thought of them first.**

**: D**

* * *

Have you ever felt that at some point in your life, everybody was rushing by at the beat of their happy little drummer, while there you are stuck at the crossroads of indecision? Everybody gets what they've always wanted, everybody's happy and complete, like the vitamin commercial... but you're alone, like you have always been.

_It started in a hospital room. The odor of antiseptic is already familiar to me, borne of numerous trips my entire life. The first thing that registered was that I had a pounding headache._

_I winced at the glare of the bright lights. _

"_Oh Thank God! Honey, how are you feeling?" _

"_Mom?"_

The alarm clock went off, and I hastily put out a hand to shut it up, missing it by a few inches. My temper got the better of me and I flung at the far wall. Sigh. So much for a night's rest. Once I started down that particular memory lane I knew wouldn't be able to stop myself.

I pushed myself out of bed and grabbed my glasses from the nightstand. SSDD.*

"_Baby this is Doctor Schwartz, he's the one handling your case."_

_The doctor reminded me of a grey-haired Colonel Sanders, with the kindly face and goatee. _

"_I see you've come back to us. How are you feeling?"_

"_I felt like I was thrown off a moving van." My voice was hoarse and scratchy, and there was a vile paste at the roof of my mouth. "How long was I out again?"_

"_Three days. You were-" I pretended not to see the look he exchanged with her. "-in an accident. Can you tell me today's date?"_

"_January 14... Mom, why are you here? Where's Phil? Did you guys cancel the road trip?" _

I shook my head and began my routine for the day: Shower, coffee, toast. A plain shirt and blue jeans. Sneakers. My handy-dandy backpack and phone.

For all intents and purposes, I am Marie Swanson, a freshman studying Reading Education at the Columbia University in Manhattan and a short certification on a minor art course. For additional income I work as a library assistant and tutor during weekends. I even walk dogs when I have more time.

"_No. It's already October 25, baby. Don't you remember?"_

"_W—what??" My heart started pounding._

"_We did leave. You came to Forks to live with Charlie."_

One thing people notice when they visit my apartment is that I have no pictures whatsoever. Sure, there are the vacant canvases and paintings, but no photographs. If I did have one, it would be of a girl at the airport before she left Phoenix for the last time, almost two years ago. She has chocolate-brown eyes, long mahogany hair and a shy smile. If they did see this, I always say she's my sister.

"_I don't understand." I tried to keep my voice calm. _

"_Now please calm down-"_

"_No don't tell me to be calm!"_

"_Please, you're still hurt-"_

"_Get me out of here!"_

I take a last look at the mirror behind my closet door to see my general appearance. Thick-rimmed glasses. Black cardigan, over a white top. Scruffy jeans torn just right. And the hair, of course. It took a big chunk out of my savings, but it was worth it.

I am now a blonde, with red highlights. Everybody gets convinced the girl was my sister, and I laugh at the joke. Because technically, that girl was dead.

Pieces of her had been missing after a mysterious September in Forks, WA.

* * *

**Ok... how was that? Not exciting enough? I write as fast as it comes to my mind, so sorry for the other details, just pm me if you noticed. I have a lot of ideas and I'm having quite the time figuring how to put it all in. Thanks for your patience!**

**M**

*Same Shit, Different Day


	3. Define

**Hi again! Sorry it took me so long, had a bit of a bump there for a while. **

**Okay... here we go!**

**Standard disclaimers apply.**

Define the person you are in empirical, measurable terms.

Thirty minutes later and I'm at work-the main library is undergoing major renovations, including collections. I'm at the Mythology section. I annotate my assigned section, catalog it with the official list, & rearrange the acquisitions. Tedious work, but it gives me lots of alone time.

"Marie?" A disembodied voice came from the shelf behind me.

Well, mostly alone time. "Sorry, Angie, what was that?"

"I was asking what was the last movie you saw in a theater." Angie was my partner for this job, but I tend to do most of the work. She has a tendency to be a bit of a chore herself. But she's a friend.

Huh. "Um-Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire?"

"Get outta here! Seriously? You're _in_ the Big Apple, you know."

It was neutral ground between Washington or Florida. "I don't like going out much."

"How about books? What are you reading?"

"American Gods by Neil Gaiman. Before that it was the Sandman collection."

"What, no love stories? Last time you had a Stephen King phase." Normally she would have annoyed me, but I was used to it. Besides, she was the first person who approached me when I knew no one here.

"Nope. I don't usually read love stories. Anything mushy like that." The closest books I have to love stories are my Austen novels, but they're now collecting dust.

"Listen to this, I'm presenting this at Lit 120 tomorrow. Tell me what you think."

She cleared her throat a bit for effect.

**How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.**

**I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach**

**When feeling out of sight--**

"Elizabeth Barrett Browning." She gasped. I couldn't help but grin at her reaction.

"I thought you don't like reading about love?"

"I thought I told you I don't _usually_ read those. And I don't like going out."

"What don't you like about that? It's sweet, encompassing--"

"I don't believe anybody could love someone that much." Cutting her off again, I dumped some old books from the cart. It sent out a cloud of dust, making me cough. "Have you started on shelf 12? I'm halfway through eleven."

"So you _have_ loved someone before?" A pair of blue eyes were now peering at me.

I sighed. Have I? Did I? Questions like these literally make me sick. Already I could feel a migraine coming on.

"_Are you sure about this?"_

_Renee almost pleaded with me as I was packing the last of my clothes._

"_Yes, mom. I'm lucky enough to be admitted at all, seeing as I only had a completion certificate for high school and--"_

"_No. I mean your therapy." She pretended to stall by fidgeting with some of my shirts. "Doctor Thompson said through further hypnosis...."_

"_I'm done. No therapy, no hypnosis." My voice shook slightly as I mangled one of my knit sweaters. _

"I don't know." I've been saying that a lot lately. "Do you have to have felt love to form a conclusion about it?"

"_Hi, Dad."_

_I gripped the receiver, hard. I know it was as hard for me as it is for him. "I'm leaving tonight for Manhattan."_

"_Sorry I couldn't be there, just a lot of jobs to do here."_

"_I understand." Really, I did._

"_Have a great term, now."_

"_Okay. And Dad?" I had to say this before I lose my nerve. "I'm sorry I don't remember. Being there with you. It's not fair."_

_He was silent for a whole minute. _

"_Me, too."_

"No, but then again it shows what you believe of course." Angie, apparently, was yet another hopeless romantic. "Come on, help me out. You're a bit difficult to read."

A shiver ran down my spine. "Can you repeat that?"

"I said help me out. Why, did you remember something?" I told people that I was having memory problems, another inside joke of mine.

"I don't know." I felt faint. Queasy. There was a choking sensation at my throat....

"Are you okay?"

Deep breath, that always helps. Okay. Removing my glasses, I closed my eyes and leaned back, using one of the shelves for support.

"Yeah. You were asking exactly—what?"

"What do you believe about love?" She planted herself beside me, along with her own load. We were seated cross-legged at the floor. "The way you talk, move around. You sound so cynical."

"My parents married when they were eighteen because they were madly in love. About four years later they were divorced." Dizziness made me unguarded. I don't say this much about myself.

"Oh. Sorry."

"No problem. Just making a point." Something struck me as I looked closer at her cheeky smile. "Wait, why are you really asking?"

She laughed, making her curls bounce even more.

"Hey, you're good. I was wondering what to get you."

My brows furrowed even closer. "What?"

"Your birthday, silly! It's September 13, right?"

Oh. "Really?" With shock, I realized that it was a mere week away. Was I that spaced out form reality?

"Don't worry, I think I already know. And you should just get contacts. You have pretty eyes."

"Thanks." Flustered, I rummaged around to find my clipboard. I was desperate for a change of subject. "But going back to your poem, I think it would be nice. To love like that. Especially the last line."

**And if God chose,**

**I shall but love thee better after death.**

The promised migraine slowly grew as we started to work in earnest, and by the time I got off the back of my head had begun to throb. Pretty soon I will be rendered helpless.

Usually I only walk home, but I took the subway this time. Regardless of the pain, I hated taking medication of any kind and would rather sulk alone. Good thing night came early at this time of year, or the light would be unbearable.

That and a million other things were running through my mind as I stepped out to cross the street, hands rubbing my temples. The blaring of car horns registered barely a second before I felt someone grab my arm and pull me back.

"Thanks," I muttered, too much in pain to be embarrassed. I felt cold, and looked up to see droplets of rain. Great. Now I'll have a migraine and a cold. The space beside me was empty when I looked back.

Fumbling my way inside the apartment, I practically crawled through the living room to the couch and stayed there, my head cradled between my hands. I must've dozed off for a few minutes. When I came to the light on my answering machine was blinking.

"_Miss Swan, this is Inspector Jamieson from Forks, WA PD. Please return this call as soon as possible, it's urgent that I speak to you."_

My cellphone! I snatched my pack from the floor and fished it out. Ten missed calls.

My heart started pounding, painfully so. The phone rang again, but I never picked up. I couldn't even move.

"_Hi this is me. Please leave a message."_

"_Bella?"_

Ice formed inside my veins, sweat breaking out on my forehead at the same time. Nobody had called me that in a year.

"_Bella, it's Billy Black. Charlie's dead, I'm sorry."_


	4. Reunion

**Hi again! I'm so sorry for the delays in posting. It's coming slowly but surely, promise. Can you please share some love on what you think about the story so far? Pleeeeease? **

**Standard disclaimers apply.  
**

* * *

All emotional trauma have three elements:

**It was unexpected.**

**The victim was unprepared.**

**There was nothing the victim could do to prevent it from happening.**

I sat on the couch and stared out the window.

My small studio-type room was eight floors up, but I could still hear the traffic of cars and people coming and going from 9th avenue. Night had completely fallen, and the darkness was broken every now and then by the headlights.

I sat on the couch, stared out the window, and waited.

Faint sounds of life around me: 92a flushing a toilet from above, 80b moving around furniture from behind the wall, the hiss of heated oil as Ingrid from next door fried tofu for dinner. I barely remembered moving, but my clothes have changed to my old sweats and my hair was damp. My bag and shoes remained on the floor.

I sat on the couch, stared out the window and waited for daybreak.

Numerous things to do. Call Renee. Call the head librarian. File for a leave of absence, probably for about four weeks. Talk to the professors about final requirements and exams. Talk to the building supervisor. Good thing Renee and Charlie paid a long lease....

Charlie.

Charlie's dead.

"_Why won't you tell me what happened, Dad?"_

_I was upset. My head was still throbbing, tubes were sticking from my arms and face, and I have stitches God knows where. I feel, and probably look like, a rag doll just discarded by my owner._

_I was missing several months of my life._

_Renee tried to intervene. "Bella, please, you have to-"_

"_No! What was I doing in the first place? Why am I here?" My voice was getting louder. _

_Charlie sighed loudly, looking at me with a mixture of resignation and despair. I was his daughter. Like him, I wanted my questions answered._

"_Doctors said it was just not the wound on your head. You forgot for the reason you wanted to forget whatever happened to you. It was psychological."_

Beside the couch stood my only source of comfort whenever I am stressed-an easel, with a large sketch pad and charcoal pencils. I was never good at colors. I like charcoal as a medium, because it's flexible and simple. Whatever you draw comes out looking aged and stark.

I got up and took the pencil.

"_You forgot because you had enormous trauma of some sort. If you were forced to remember, they say you might break down completely."_

"_Completely. So- I was out of my mind for a while?"_

"_Honey," Renee was crying. "Honey, you jumped off a cliff. "_

Art was therapy. Anger, despair, hopelessness translate to lines and figures visible to the naked eye. Images of my dreams and nightmares captured on paper or canvas. I let myself go into a daze whenever I do this, simply letting my fingers move. Nothing was more satisfying than seeing the finished work, and the smudges on my face and hands.

Sleep will not come tonight, I'm sure of that. It never always does.

At around six AM, the phone rang. This time I picked it up and recognized the caller ID.

"Hi, mom. Are you okay?"

"Oh my God, they just called me." She was sobbing. "I'm so sorry, Bella."

That makes it twice now.

"Mom." Really, what was I supposed to say? "Don't even think of flying down there. It's dangerous to your condition."

"The baby's fine." Sniffles came over the line. "I want to come with you."

"No. You almost miscarried, remember?" I was irritated and focused on that emotion-it distracts me. "It's not like Charlie's gonna come back to life if you attend the funeral."

It was mean, I know, but I had to use major guilt. She could be so stubborn sometimes.

"Sorry."

"No, you're right. Like always. It's just so unexpected, you know?"

Now I get it. Dad was barely fifty, and they were the same age. She's more afraid of her own mortality. And with a particularly difficult pregnancy, no less.

"He's a cop, but he's not invincible, mom. We'll all get there in the end."

It would've been funny had the topic been something else. The daughter reassuring the mother. At least that part hasn't changed.

"Please call me when you get there, okay? I'm sorry, sweetie, but I hear so little from you and I just worry so much, and...." She was sobbing again.

"I'm sorry, mom." Closing my eyes, another knife slashed its way in my heart. I've deliberately alienated myself from everything I was, and apparently I was not as subtle as I thought.

"Go back to sleep, okay? Phil's gonna be worried sick about you. I'll probably leave tomorrow or the day after. I'm gonna have to do a lot of stuff around here." Really, the baby was making her more clingy than ever. Good thing she only has one more month.

I've already put down the phone. A few more hours and I can finally go to school and arrange everything. Then I saw the sketch I made. Huh. So much for the subconscious....I stood and tore it out, to be stored in a box deep within my closet. I've accumulated quite a few. My insomnia made me more productive than usual. Part of me wanted a bit of vanity, to let other people see, but I know I never will let them.

Smoothing out the paper, I stared at it once more.

"Are you even real?"

The sketch and everything else was forgotten as I did everything on schedule. FWPD was kind enough to send me a copy of Charlie's death certificate by FeDex, along with a copy of the FHS Yearbook in what I consider a bit of an irony. Maybe somebody was kind enough to remember that I have to have my copy. Or maybe I needed to remember the faces of my former classmates. That makes sense. Wouldn't want to have awkward moments as I shake their hands and accept their condolences.

A hysterical laugh escaped me, and I clamped my hand over my mouth. Do I hear my screw slowly loosening?

Five appointments, six promised essays, and about ten phone calls later, I was at the JFK for the midnight flight to Seattle. Everything went surprisingly well,given my usual luck. Being a police chief's daughter can still pull some strings, apparently. Angie drove me to the airport, despite my protests. But deep inside I was grateful for a bit of friendship.

"When will you be coming back?"

"Give or take a few weeks or more, it depends. Good thing it's almost the break, or-" I caught myself. Was I honestly saying my father's death had good timing?

"I'm sorry, Marie." She reached out and squeezed my hand. We were seated at the hard plastic chairs in the waiting area. "Will you be alright there, by yourself?"

"I'm used to it." I grinned humorlessly. "Really, I don't even think I'll take long."

I stood up as my flight was paged for boarding. From her bag, she poked around and pulled out a thin box.

"I planned on giving this to you at school, but you need a bit of cheering right now." She was smiling a bit shyly. "Don't open it until you're in the plane, alright?"

"Okay." I took it, and accepted an awkward hug. My social skills are getting rusty.

A plane seating about two hundred and fifty passengers. People coming and going, from vacations, meetings, and seminars. People visiting relatives, getting married, buying properties, selling stuff. And people who just lost someone and on their way to bury them. Amazingly enough, it turned out my seat had a duplicate ticket, and the steward apologized profusely before giving the best alternative seat. In first class. By the window. By this time I was so used to the weird day that I merely accepted.

"Anything else I can help you with before takeoff?" The attendant was blonde, bright and perky.

Sure. "Do you have a dvd player?"

"Sorry?"

"Never mind, thanks." I smiled, and looked back at Angie's gift. A dvd of Notting Hill.

* * *

**(Hyperventilating)**

**Okay... how was that? I was trying to see how long it would take before her name was mentioned, but dang, it just came up. Along with something else, of course.**

**M**


	5. Welcome

**Standard discalimers apply.**

**'Cause you can't jump the track, we're like cars on a cable**

**And life's like an hourglass, glued to the table**

**No one to find the rewind button girl,**

**So cradle your head in your hands.**

**And breathe, just breathe*....**

It seemed to me that I just closed my eyes for a few minutes, but we've finally landed at SeaTac Airport. My eyes felt grainy, and my limbs move like mush. I hung my head between my legs and waited for the rest of the passengers to file out. After a few minutes I went out-and fogged up my glasses. Sigh. I forgot about this. I stopped immediately and almost slipped on the stairs. I clung to the banister for dear life.

"Everything alright?" A Southern drawl came from behind me, making me wince. I thought I was the last one off. Apparently a few minutes in Washington state is enough to get the old me started.

"Yeah, just peachy, thanks." My face was burning. Not looking back, I slung my backpack higher up my shoulder and walked on towards the counters, then towards the main lobby. When I've gauged sufficient distance from the Gallant Passenger, I checked the Greyhound counter.

I've forgotten to call Forks PD for my arrival. A lump rose in my throat at the thought that I actually don't have anyone to call in Forks anymore. To be escorted home by a police cruiser sounded exactly like what Charlie could've done, and I won't have anybody else do it for me.

Did he? I wondered as I waited for the bus to start boarding. What else did Charlie do?

Sinking in the first seat behind the driver, I put my headphones on and blasted Coldplay from my mp3. The rain was starting to come down, and we weren't even near Forks yet. I texted Renee about my arrival before I forget completely and she has another breakdown. I wasn't in any mood for more polite conversation, so the moment I felt the other passengers come in I just closed my eyes.

Trivial things, right. Speech. Do I have to prepare one? Charlie wasn't the eloquent type, either. What dress would I wear? Do I even have to wear a dress? From what the new chief said, the funeral would be tomorrow afternoon at the latest. My heart stuttered at the thought of speaking to the townspeople. There will certainly be a lot of them. He was the chief, after all. Was... I swallowed. They said he died in action. They won't elaborate as to what kind.

I may not remember much, but Forks wasn't the kind of town that needs much from a police force. My hand went to the strange scar I had on my arm-Charlie refused to even tell me how I got it.

"_The fact that you forgot only a specific time period points to selective amnesia," Dr. Mirra intoned, peering at me from her half-moon glasses. "Apparently, the trauma was just one trigger." She was a pretty brunette, wearing a soft blue cardigan over a white turtleneck sweater. _

_I tried to be comfortable at the couch, I really did. She came highly recommended by Dr. Schwartz, saying she's a premier shrink in the hospital. To relieve my stress, I focused on the dust motes in the sunlight streaming from the high windows. "Guess so."_

"_Have you had any significant emotional trauma in your past, before you went to your father's?" The click of her ballpoint pen was overloud in the silence. _

_Emotional. "Of course, the fact that I knew they were divorced, that was emotional. A bit still, actually. Then I learned that Mom was dating this player who was a bit younger than her, that made me nervous, actually. Then the fact that she decided to get married almost gave me a heart attack...."_

"_Right, u-huh." She scribbled on her pad. "Thank you. Right. Now," she leaned closer, giving me a whiff of rosewater perfume. "Are you familiar with the fact that our minds are more powerful then we think?"_

_I just shrugged._

"_You see, before, they used to study how what you do affects your brain, your mind per se." She waved her hand around for effect. "Now it's the other way round. Studies have shown how powerful our minds can be in controlling our bodies, our metabolisms. And yes, our memories. The mind can sometimes simply shut down when we find situations too painful for us to deal with. Do you understand?"_

"_Ok, so you're saying that I still know what happened, only I buried it deep in my mind?" Duh. I would think that was obvious._

"_Good. The memories are there, waiting to surface. And we can try to scratch through that barrier you've erected."_

_Well. "You mean-hypnosis?"_

Closing my eyes, I tried to visualize a sunny morning, my face awash in gentle heat when I wake up. That was one of my favorite things, the warmth. That made being alone in Manhattan easier. At least they have four seasons. I loved walking around Central Park after classes finished, feeding the fat pigeons or watching the fish in the lake. Walking around the park in the full spectacle of autumn was absolute bliss. There was a lot of people, mainly tourists, taking pictures. There was an absolute sense of security in being surrounded by people.

Was that one reason why I lived alone in the busiest city in the world?

I think I napped a bit. When I opened my eyes next it was at the Port Angeles stop. I went out and stretched a bit before hailing a cab for my last ride of the day.

_I was hyperventilating. Dr. Mirra was leaning over me, her glasses askew. Charlie and Renee had burst in the session room and were looking down at me with fear in their eyes. _

"_W-what happened?" I was groggy._

"_You were screaming, honey."_

_I pushed their hands away and sat up. "What did I say?" My face was covered in sweat. Some of my wounds felt like they opened again._

_The doctor was calm, but clearly excited. "You just kept saying 'you promised'."_

Having nowhere else to go, I gave the cabbie the only address I have. Charlie's house. My house, now that I think about it. I felt colder that ever, yet my palms were damp. The sign as we passed was both welcoming and mocking.

Welcome to Forks.

**Breathe (2am) by Anna Nalick**


	6. Home

**Standard disclaimers apply.**

Have you ever felt as if you are disappearing, that whenever you are in a crowd people just look straight through you? Sometimes it gets to the point that I hold a hand over my chest, just to see if my heart is still beating.

I was here, and I wasn't.

I stood on the doorway, my forehead against the door, trying in vain to make sense of the chaos of my world. The door knob was cold to the touch. The paint was the same bright white shade, the shutters closed like sleeping eyes. There were a few unopened newspapers on the front steps, and the bushes needed a bit of trimming. Around this time of year we would've started sweeping leaves in the backyard.

When I went in, it was as if Charlie just stepped outside.

There was still an unopened beer can at the side table in the living room. Some of his shirts were draped over the couch and arm chairs. At the kitchen sink stood the lonely dishes probably from his last meal. I expected him to come down the stairs anytime and welcome me back, wearing the standard plaid shirt and faded jeans.

_Silly Bella._

I heard the voice in my head and my brows furrowed. Who was that? Sighing, I ran my fingers through my hair again. I carried my bag over the threshold, dumped it on the living room carpet, and just stood there. The house was like a forlorn pet waiting for its master.

The clock on the mantelpiece said eleven-thirty, a ripe time for lunch--but I just wasn't hungry. Come to think of it, I was rarely hungry. From a size two I was reduced to a zero and had to resort to buying shirts from the kids section in department stores. Angie and some of my classmates wanted to know my secret, but they only got upset when I told them that I simply didn't eat.

Crashing down on his favorite chair in front of the TV, I tried to picture my father on his last night here. Watching his favorite baseball team, probably with a few colleagues, falling asleep and then waking up to get to the station early since nobody was home anyway. Yeah, that sounded like him. At least he was happy. He was a man of simple pleasures.

My position was the most comfortable one I've had since going to the airport almost twelve hours earlier, and already I could feel my body shutting down. My eyes closed on their own, and my arms slid down to my sides. At the back of my mind I tried to stay awake enough to call the station, but it was a moot effort.

My dreams were filled with darkness.

_Forests and the sea. Blood. A bleeding wound._

The phone rang shrilly in the silence, and I jerked awake, momentarily confused with the rooms. Shaking my head, I reached out with easy familiarity towards the extension phone.

"Miss Swan?"

"Yes?" My voice sounded scratchy, and I coughed a bit, covering the mouthpiece.

"This is Inspector Jameson. We thought you'll be arriving later, sorry nobody came to pick you up."

"No, it's nothing, sir. I never thought I'll make the last flight. It was only a gamble."

"Can you make it to the funeral home, or would you like someone to come for you?"

Definitely not that. "I still have a vague outline of the town. I can drive there. I think my truck is still working. Where--where is he?" Twinge in my chest again. With the help of a lamp and the pen and pads I knew were in the drawers I managed to sketch a rough map of the place. The funeral was tomorrow afternoon, at four. The kind inspector seemed surprised at my calm, and I had to be firm on refusing his offer of an escort. I may not be that coordinated, but I will not be patronized.

I turned on all the lights and was shocked to see the time. I slept for seven straight hours. That's a first, given my erratic habits. I forced myself to start moving.

After freshening up in the bathroom and a change of clothes, I stared at the other key I have in my hand. It was a bit late. I don't think there will be that many people tonight. I would love to just be in the funeral and get it over with, but apparently the police called every couple of hours until they finally confirmed I was here. My cellphone's battery had run out.

I pulled on a coat and stood at the front door. Darkness had fallen completely outside, but the sky was bright with stars. I rarely get to see many of those in the city. The air was cold and crisp. The silence was broken only by a few birds and crickets.

At the driveway, to my left, stood the old truck I got as a homecoming present. I pulled the cover off and contemplated the grand ruin. Yeah, I believe I would've loved this. I got in the cab, smelling the aroma of old tobacco and peppermint. I don't know much about cars, but even I know this looks like it was kept in tune. Maybe he was hoping I would come back.

Sorry, Dad. Looks like I wasn't soon enough. I wanted to cry. But I can't.

The engine went on with a loud roar as I started it, and after a few more seconds to get used to it, I managed to get it out of the driveway and on to the I 10.

Mount Olympus Funeral Homes was a study in irony. An immortal name for mortal bodies. The halls were surprisingly well-decorated with somber maroon carpets and oak furnishings. The lights were slightly dimmed, and the scent of lilies permeated the atmosphere. The receiving hall resembled a hotel lobby from bygone times, if I didn't know any better. The night clerk even had on a uniform like the clerks I used to see in Victorian films.

Passing him, I went on to check the schedules and directory. Charles Swan was interred in the Zeus suite, whatever that is. It certainly sounded like it's the best they have. Looking out at the parking lot, I felt a bit of dismay at the number of vehicles still parked. Charlie's was the only schedule here, ergo....

Straight on up, second door to the left.

I took a deep breath and went in, keeping my eyes trained ahead even as I felt the eyes on me. The room was more than half-full. Conversations, whispers, even breathing probably stopped. Their curiosity was so palpable, you could taste it. A shiny bronze coffin was at the other end of the room. Beside it was a large portrait of Charlie in his uniform.

There was a strange ringing sound in my ears as I resolved to put one foot in front of the other. It dimly crossed my mind that I was walking down a red carpet, something any other girl would have done at another, happier occasion.

Come on. Walk to the coffin.

My breath was coming in shorter intervals. The ringing sound was getting louder, like feedback from a speaker. My palms were damp. A cold sweat was breaking out on my forehead.

Keep walking.

Charlie's inside that box.

Keep walking.

No use in tripping over my own feet.

Keep walking.

It felt like a dream; the harder you try to run from something, the slower you go. The more you try to reach for something, the further it goes away.

Keep walking.

I was about ten feet away when I stopped. The coffin was closed.

An awful nothingness emanated from the casket. Nothing resembled a human there anymore.

Charlie's corpse. His shell. His organic remains.

The pounding in my chest was such that I felt my heart would burst out.

Charlie's dead.

He's dead.

He's....

A warm hand grasped my right arm. I blinked. There was a popping sound. And I could hear the crowd once more.

_Is that Bella? She looks half-dead herself, poor girl When did she arrive? I thought she was a brunette, she looks really different What's gonna happen to her now_

There was a copper-skinned man in a wheelchair attached to the hand on my arm. His eyes were the darkest obsidian, looking at me somberly. His long dark hair was tied back with a bit of leather. Dim memories of Charlie going fishing, knowing about the Quiluete reservation.

"Billy?" It came out as a whisper.

"How are you doing, Bella? Would you like me to take you up front?"

I only nodded.

Thanks to him, I made it up the final steps. The coffin reflected my face as I bent over it, fogging up as I sighed again. I laid my head over the spot where I knew his head would be. My eyes felt wet, but nothing fell as I blinked back furiously. Of course they would be expecting a show. I refuse to give them any.

Another hand on my back, colder this time.

"I'm so sorry." It voice full of seductive melody, even when speaking. Billy cleared his throat beside me as I straightened up to turn around.

She had the most gorgeous shade of red hair I have ever seen. The skin was pale, even compared to my usual pallor. _Beautiful_ is the only word that will cross your mind once you see her face. Perfect nose, full lips, devoid of makeup yet stunning in brilliance. The eyes- they were filled with the deepest anguish, so much that I was confused for a moment.

"I'm Esme, Dr. Cullen's wife. I'm so sorry."


	7. Seeing Red

**Standard disclaimers apply.**

_I'm Esme, Dr. Cullen's wife. I'm so sorry_

For an awkward moment I thought she raised her arms to embrace me, but she merely placed both hands on my cheeks. She acted as if she knew me well... then I felt the coldness of her hands through the stylish leather gloves she was wearing. After months of unwanted tests and examinations I've become fierce about personal space, but I did absolutely nothing. It unsettled me.

"Dr. Cullen was one of Charlie's acquaintances here." Billy broke the spell, and she let me go. "They left for California about a couple of years ago, was that right, Mrs. Cullen?"

"Yes." We both turned to him, but she was still looking at me. "I wanted to see how she was doing. I don't think we'll be here long."

Surely she's only a few years older, but I felt very small under her gaze. How much did she know about me? She felt more – maternal. I never had this impression with Renee.

"Are you here with the entire family?" Billy was asking.

"Yes." She looked around for a moment. As if on cue, a handsome man came to her side, having distanced himself from a group of goggling females. They looked upset to lose him.

Goodness! If Esme was beautiful, this man was a ray of golden sunlight – he was that dazzling.

"Good evening. Bella, Mr. Black." Unlike his wife, he only nodded to us. But the gesture was every bit as formal as a bow. He placed an arm around her shoulders and whispered something to her ear.

For a second her face crumpled.

Looking at them was like seeing the display windows at Saks. They looked so out of place here, so... different. My head started throbbing again ,and I felt a bit nauseated. Why now, of all places?

"Are you alright, Bella?"

It was the doctor. Opening my eyes, I saw myself bending over the coffin, and I hastily straightened up.

"Yes, I'm fine, Doctor. Thanks."

"Please, call me Carlisle." Of course he wasn't convinced. His eyes took on a more impersonal gaze as his medical training kicked in. "Are you feeling lightheaded? Dizzy?"

Yes. "No, I'm fine, I just-" I bit my lip. Just wanted to see who came? Just wanted to see my father's coffin?

Surprisingly, Carlisle declared they were leaving. Billy said something to them about the service, and Esme gave me another sad smile as they walked away.

Apparently other people took it as their cue to approach me. Soon enough I was shaking hands with several policemen, the town hall officials, and other elders of the Quileute community. My peripheral vision, however, never left the golden couple as they made their way to the door. Before it closed behind them, I saw Esme's shoulders beginning to shake as she covered her face with her hands.

Was she crying? Why?

"...how beautiful you are. But you're so thin!" The woman speaking had chocolate brown skin and beautiful curls. She said she was a waitress at "our" favourite diner. I had nothing to say to that.

"Will you be holding a funeral party at your house?" Asked a white woman with a suspiciously-unlined face. She said she was Moira Mallory.

"No." I think I already answered that. "Sorry, I can't handle-"

"Poor dear, we understand. Such a thing to happen to Charlie!"

So far I only managed to get a few sentences through. They were all expressive enough, or mournful enough that I don't think what

I even said mattered. As if they absolutely understood what I was feeling.

At the moment, it was...absolutely nothing.

Beneath the genuine or false concern was the seething curiosity, though I could hardly begrudge them. Only my abrupt answers and Billy's stalwart presence beside me prevented the nosiest of them from asking the overly pointed questions.

Yes, I was doing fine.

I am studying at Columbia U in New York.

Renee has complicated pregnancy, hence her absence.

Variations of these bits of my resume, over and over again. I should've just printed out copies to make them happy.

The grilling stopped when Chief Jamieson himself came, along with a few more officers. He was impressive. Tall, with graying hair slicked back. Dark, thick eyebrows and piercing gray eyes, with a bushy moustache. Body built like a retired wrestler. A cigar and a trench coat would complete the picture.

His demeanor was textbook as well: quiet tone, minimal body contact. I think this was to avoid arousing my fragile emotions.

"This is my card, just call if you ever need anything. I do mean anything. I'm so sorry, Ms. Swan."

Taking the card, I pushed it in the back pocket of my jeans and nodded. Then I looked at the coffin again. I never had to ask, I'm sure.

"It wasn't pretty." Good observational skills. "He was in pursuit of an animal that was attacking a hiker, and apparently it rounded on him." He shook his head.

"Is that what it was?"

"We're still having an investigation done to be certain." He ran a hand over his face, and the professional mask seemed to slip. "This is complicated. Which reminds me, are you alone in the house?"

"Yes."

"I would advise you to have someone keep you company, or at least accept our offer of night escorts-"

"The neighbours aren't that far." Not exactly, but he need not know that. "And he taught me how to use a gun." Again, not an entire truth, but I made a mental note to try to fire one if I get the chance.

"Smart man." He looked at me as though he was going to say something else, but changed his mind. "Listen, we have to go. Call me if you have any questions."

I nodded again. As if on signal, the police officers stood up to leave as well. They gave me those awkward half-bow, half-nods they always give to indicate either sympathy or simple acknowledgement. A group of middle-aged professionals introduced themselves as teachers from the high school, and I floundered under their attention for some time before I noticed Billy was missing.

The scent of lilies was overwhelming.

Making my excuses, I slowly navigated the route for the door. Thankfully there are no faces of my age, as schools still have about several weeks before the break. Tact can only go around so much. To my mounting dismay, even more people are coming up the stairs and I cast around for a suitable escape plan.

There was an elevator at the end of the hallway, past the other rooms. I tried not to think about its purpose as I dashed in and punched the button for the ground floor. Soon enough I was at the rear part of the main reception area, beside the glass doors for the service exit. I pushed through those and took a deep breath of the chill night air.

"How are you, Bella?"

Billy wheeled out from the shadows cast by the night lights.

This was the second time he asked, and I felt pressed to answer.

"I'm doing impossibly well, according to the Forks population."

"Sorry I left; I had to have a break." Lifting a hand, he showed me a half-finished cigarette.

"Can I have one?" I took a stick from the pack of Marlboros he offered me. Patting my left hand on my pockets, I fished for the lighter I always carry with me and opened it with a satisfying click. I took a deep drag.

And coughed.

"Never thought you'd pick this up." There was a hint of perplexity at that.

"I haven't had one of these in eight months," I gasped, blinking watery eyes. The second drag was far more satisfying. It felt good in this weather. I was backsliding, and it isn't good. My mind snatched for another subject.

"How are your kids, Billy?"

"Rachel's at school and Rebecca's already married."

"Wow. Married?"

"Yes, I'm thinking about the grandchildren they're supposed to be giving me, but no such luck."

A faint image came to me then, a little boy with long and dark hair. He made better mudpies than I ever did.

"How about your son - Jake?"

"Jacob." At the mention of the name, his face became set in stone. "He's out on a trip. Haven't heard from him."

"Sorry."

"He's fine. He just had to work some issues out for himself."

If Jacob had issues, I should do a reality TV show. I let another drag fill my lungs; it felt like putting on a favourite pair of old shoes. What did they call it again? Procedural memory. You forget a lot of things, but not those involving skills like riding a bike or writing a letter. If only things were that simple.

"I'm sure he'll be back soon."

"I'm not that worried. How about you Bella?"

"What?"

"What are your plans?"

"I don't know." I put up my hand again, but the cigarette was smoked through. Flicking it to the nearest trash bin, I was almost ridiculously pleased to see the aim was true. Then I looked up to one of the second floor windows, and I remembered why I was here.

"I have a leave of absence until the end of term. Then I'll make things up from there."

The skies seemed incredibly wide here.

"How was he Billy?"

His eyes, if that was possible, became even darker and deeper. There was genuine sadness there, and it came to me that this was probably hurting him more.

"He worried about you. How you were taking care of yourself, and so on. Worked even longer hours to stop thinking."

Story of my life.

"What was it about attacks on hikers?"

"That was such a tragedy. One we hope won't happen again."

"How exactly were they attacked?"

"I don't think I should be the one to answer that."

Watching his thoughts shift was like looking at a curtain coming down the stage. I attempted to make him open up again.

"Who are the Cullens, Billy?"

He almost flinched at that.

"Exactly as I told you before. They were friends with Charlie. Dr. Cullen was pretty popular at the hospital."

"Why did it look like they know me?" Esme's face, achingly sad.

"Small town, kid."

"They never talked to other people in the room like they did to me."

"Well, it appears as though you know their children."

My eyebrows shot up to my hairline. "They have children? Exactly how old are they?"

The conversation was cut short by the blast of backfiring engine. We both turned to the source by the left side of the parking lot. It was from a beat up VW Beetle;black smoke was still coming out of the exhaust pipe. It made my truck look positively modern.

Billy ran a hand over his face. "Good grief."

A pair of booted feet, followed by long, jean-clad legs came out, connected to an impossibly tall body. I wondered how he managed to fit in as the driver strode toward us, giving a cheery wave.

"Good evening! _Aya so cha?_"*****

"_Yapotalli_,"****** came the curt answer.

That didn't sound good.

He was _really_ tall. I never even reached his chest, though I am not of average height myself. The face was incredibly young. Flash of white teeth in reddish-bronze skin.

"Hi Bella, I'm Seth. Remember me? Ow!"

The exclamation was due to the well-placed jab Billy gave his left thigh. He was glaring, but his voice remained calm as he introduced us.

"Bella, this is Seth. Harry Clearwater's boy." I pretended to not see his brief grimace. "Isn't Sam available?"

"Sorry, he's kinda busy." Shuffling his feet, he tucked a few strands of his hair behind one ear. His face shone red in embarrassment. He looked at anywhere but me. Almost child-like, really. The contrast to his appearance was quite baffling. "He asked me to fill in."

"I don't think you even have a license."

"I haven't gotten it yet, but it's late. And I have you as my licensed adult companion, so no problem."

"Well, I have to go, Bella. Will you be alright?"

"I guess I'll be going, too. Do you think they'll look for me?"

"I think they'll understand."

And if they don't, I don't give a rat's ass.

"Right. See you tomorrow, then."

Seth gave me another sheepish smile as he wheeled Billy's chair away. I watched as he was lifted to the passenger seat, then as the younger man folded the chair and stored it at the baggage compartment. They waved again as they passed, the Beetle giving another sickening cough of smoke.

I peered at the lobby to make sure nobody followed me before I started walking to the truck. Good thing the cemetery, like most of the places here, is quite easy to find. That is one conversation I don't want to happen. I probably appear quite distraught to them as it is. Unlocking the cab, I sat there for a few more minutes.

Charlie's dead, I am alone in a town of virtual strangers and am filled with unanswered questions. I have an opportunity to fill the gap in my memory, but something is telling me that I am better off not knowing.

The air reminded me of Esme's cold touch, which brings me back to my last question for Billy.

Who are the Cullens?

My life is looking more and more like a badly written novel.

The engine shocked me to consciousness one again as I turned the key. Well, at least they could tell I was leaving.

Forks is a town sustained by the lumber from the mountains. Unlike some of its contemporaries, it managed to flourish due to fact that it passed by the 101, one of the country's most popular highways. It blows the mind to comprehend that this town of constant rain is linked way down to sunny California at the freeway's end. No taxis, though, but I think they still have public transportation of sorts. Quite a lot of restaurants, thanks to the steady stream of hikers and nature enthusiasts.

California. The Cullens were from California. But – and this may sound stupid – how come they don't have tans? But then again they're probably not there for the weather. I've lived in Phoenix, but I still am pale as a ghost.

_It's too green._

I don't know where that came from, but it sounded like me. I'm probably going to experience quite a lot of déjà vu while I'm here. One sign I've noticed is the frequency of the headaches. Meeting the good people of Forks gave me quite a whopper. Maybe my subconscious is stopping me? But why?

I read somewhere that the mind and body connection is still a mystery to scientists. My mind is probably connected by frayed bits of wire, hence the bad connection.

To short term goals first. The attendant at the gas station-slash-convenience store looked me from head to toe as he rang my purchases.

"Do you need my license?" I asked politely.

"Nope." His rheumy eyes looked at my bags. "Quite a load though, if I may say so."

"I've pulled all the stops."

Wouldn't you know it. My phone vibrated in my jacket as I was going through the front door. It was Angie.

"Hi, sorry I never got to text."

"That's okay, I was just worried. Did you get to see him?"

What was that, exactly? "I guess so."

"Craig and I watched a movie, I just got back. Did you open my gift?"

"Yes, thanks."

"Well, try to enjoy. Hope you're doing okay."

What a character, Angie. She was all bubbles and sunshine, yet she attached herself to me like a barnacle. The more cynical side of me supposed that she probably sees me as a personal welfare project, but then maybe she just pities me. I suffer her attention because at least her presence was proof to people that I am perfectly capable of having friends. It makes me look more normal.

Normal. What exactly is that?

Sitting back on the couch, I relished the utmost silence.

Silence, cigarettes, and scotch.

I closed my eyes.

***How are you?**

****I'm tired/I want to leave.**


	8. Fall

**Hi guys! My thanks, from Morriganland. Amazing how Eclipse is looming over the horizon when we just saw New Moon a few short months ago. I'm looking forward to more Edward, but I'm torn at the fact that I'll see werewolf-boy too (no offense). First off, a few trivia. Mount Olympus Funeral Homes is a real funeral parlor in Forks. It is surprisingly easy to change your name, especially in New York, if you have no pending criminal records and such. And finally, I am torn at the fact that another name finally came up. Whew!**

**Standard disclaimers apply.**

If you dream and not immediately realize you are dreaming, how can you trust your senses?

I never even knew I fell asleep until the series of knocks almost made me fall from the couch. The light confused me for a moment; it looked either early morning or early evening. Then, as things always happen, it clicked into place and I knew where I was.

Running a hand through my hair, I looked at the overflowing ashtrays and almost-empty bottles. I tried to gather the worst of the mess as I hurried to the door.

It was another Quileute woman, Sue Clearwater. She said she was Charlie's housekeeper, which made perfect sense to me.

"I used to come here once a week, but after what happened," trembling, she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. "I'm here to help you."

"Thanks, Mrs Clearwater, but you don't have to…."

"Charlie was a good friend to everyone."

With that, she swept in and began clearing up the debris in the living room. I took a shower after accepting her offer of breakfast. No hangover, no migraine. At least not yet. I stared at myself in the bathroom. I don't have to go to the salon for a couple of months at least. My eyes were bloodshot, but that's alright. They'll probably think I've been crying my eyes out.

I paused at the top of the stairs. There were three rooms at the second floor: mine, Charlie's, and a spare bedroom-turned-storeroom. We rarely have guests because my parents struck out on the genetics lottery. Renee's closest relative was an elderly aunt and a cousin in Philadelphia. From what I know, Forks was his hometown until Charlie accepted a scholarship to a Phoenix university and eventually, where he married Renee. Then the few remaining relatives died and he took it on himself to re-establish the Swan roots. It was something she never forgave him for.

My train of thought was derailed by another knock on the door, which Sue immediately answered. I managed to come downstairs looking decent enough to greet a Mrs Hoover with her condolences and potato salad. The next couple of hours brought more well-wishers and several casseroles. I've forgotten about this custom, having lived in big cities most of my life. However, I never touched any of the food and opted for Sue's pancakes instead.

She never spoke as she went about the chores, which was fine.

"I can't eat all that." I was looking at the Tupperware containers at the dining table. At this rate, the fridge will be full by lunchtime. "I already said there won't be any funeral party." Now that is a juxtaposition.

"White people think giving food also gives comfort," Sue said while making room at the freezer.

"Or it gives them an excellent cause to see the former chief's infamous daughter."

"Perhaps."

We went on in silence for a few for minutes. Pouring more syrup on my pancakes, sipping the coffee- it felt like act. And I never considered myself good at any kind of drama. Having started the habit, my fingers itched for another cigarette to go with my meal, but I don't want to want to do it yet. Closing my eyes, I firmly willed the urge away.

Then it occurred to me. "Mrs Clearwater-"

"Just Sue." She never looked up from wiping the counters.

"Well, Sue…Can you tell me something about what happened? To Dad?"

The washcloth paused imperceptibly before making its way to the sink, then back again. I've learned not to rely on faces for quite some time now.

"It was horrible. Nothing more can be said about that."

"Did it make the news? Was it a bear?" That's the most common predator in these areas.

"I don't know, but I don't think they'll be able to catch whatever that is. Now," she said, turning to me with grim effort. "Which ones would you like to remain?"

A lost battle is sometimes easiest to recognize.

"Which ones do you recommend?"

I chose most of the pastas and salads. Then I sat in the living room and plugged the laptop to the phone line. Soon enough I was checking my emails and chatting with Renee.

_R: How's everything there?_

_Me: Pretty organized, which is quite a relief. All I had to do was shake hands._

_R: I meant, how are they treating you?_

The surprisingly emphatic question made me stop typing. All these years made me think she never really cared about our image here.

_Me: I'm the chief's daughter, mom. They'll always be nice. They're just curious, that's all._

_R: After what happened, I don't think they're just curious. _

Hm. This is unexpected. I tried to see if I could push it a bit more.

_Me: Why mom? Did I make that much of an impact here?_

It was almost amusing to watch her ion move from on to offline, then back again. She apologized for the faulty connection, when I very well knew that she had a better broadband connection than my primitive setup here.

_R: I'm sorry I can't tell you more, honey._

Good thing I didn't use the webcam. Guilt will surely be all over her face.

_Me: I was expecting that. GTG. Funeral's this afternoon._

Leaning back, I contemplated the stairs like one would a poisonous cobra. Sue had taken my bags upstairs so I have no choice. I logged off and checked the time: one-thirty.

Sue had already left and taken most of the "comfort food" with her. Maybe she'll feed them to dogs or something. It was touching to see the coasters and ashtrays she left at the coffee table. At least I knew how Charlie managed to keep the house decent. And speaking of decent, I really have to be getting ready.

My feet went to Charlie's room first. It was Spartan, composing of the minimum necessities. His uniform was still draped by the bed. The bedclothes weren't even rumpled. There was an empty glass of water by the bedside table.

Then it was on to my bedroom. Well, Bella's bedroom.

Turning the doorknob, I opened the door to look at remnants of my life. Fair-sized, it had a good view of the woods and the street outside. To my left was the small bed with a purple bedspread. There was also my study table where an ancient desktop sat like a graceless rock. Probably connects to the Internet like one, too. To my right, beside the door, is the closet. Pinned to the wall was a corkboard I made to put my schedules or artwork. It was depressingly empty.

I sat on the bed and imagined myself here, listening to the constant rain. I must've been pretty restless. I probably didn't have time for knickknacks either, aside from the obligatory flower prints to make the room more "feminine". Looking at the walls, my eyes were drawn to the old rocking chair by the window.

Anybody sitting there would have a perfect view of me in Dreamland.

I frowned. Why would anyone else sit there?

Then I saw the dresses hanging by the closet door. Good old Sue! Standing up, I recognized two of them as Angie's. She made me pack them after looking at my wardrobe. The third one, however, was new to me. Perhaps Sue pulled out an alternative from the closet? To be honest, the rain will only make me pull on a coat, which will naturally cover the dress. I might as well out on a pair of jeans and be done with it.

But still…I sighed.

I chose the white one, the third dress. It had black lace at the cuffs and a black collar. I covered it with my decent black coat. Simple black pumps, a touch of gloss and blush. I looked even paler in this gloomy light. Fiddling anxiously with my purse, I tried to comprise a suitable eulogy. Was I supposed to write it down? Aren't eulogies simply joyful recollections about the departed?

Departed. Such a nice word. It's as if they'll come back anytime.

A light rain had started falling as I parked the truck. The ground was not wet enough for mud, but my shoes still squished faintly as I trod resolutely through the grass. They had erected a tent for the ceremony, and a lot of people were already gathered.

The turnout was already bigger than I thought.

The coffin was already atop the open grave. On both sides were rows and rows of plastic chairs. There was even a makeshift podium by the left-hand side. Billy waved at me from one of the front seats. Smiling grimly, I clutched my purse like a shield and sat down next to him. Soon even more people arrived, along with most of the police force. The reverend of the local church ( I forgot which church) came over to shake my hand, and the service finally began.

I let the words wash over me, taking in the unusual weather, the light, the lush grass. My eyes were on the metal box strewn with flowers. Where did they get flowers at this season? The good reverend was saying was saying something about grief, about coping, about duty. How many times has he used that speech?

All too soon, the wireless microphone was being handed to me.

A trick: I removed my glasses before going to the podium. I discovered this when my vision began to wane. The mourners were nothing but faint blurs of color, scents and sounds, making it easier to talk at them.

Deep breath….

"I…." I cleared my throat. "I suppose, in a way, Charlie was more of a father to Forks than to me. And I don't mean that the way it sounds. It's just-"

The coffin was clearer than ever.

"-just we weren't together that often, and he was probably making up for it by doing the best he could. He focused on his job. It's sad that we never met again, before…" My voice cracked, and I swallowed. "Before all this. But perhaps, in a way, he was okay with that. He was doing his job, something not all of us can do when this time comes."

This will be the last I'll see of him.

"Goodbye, Dad. I'll never forget."

Then somebody was taking the mic from me, patting my shoulder consolingly. Somebody gave me a pack of tissues. I stared at it stupidly. The sniffs and sobs were getting louder. The rest was a blur, to the tune of "Amazing Grace" sung by the diner waitress. While all this was happening, the undertaker stepped on a lever and the box slowly lowered to the ground. A few more people came to talk to, or even, hug me. While all this was happening, the undertaker stepped on a lever and the shiny box was slowly lowered to the ground.

A paunchy, balding man in a striped suit introduced himself as Nelson Gaunt, Charlie's lawyer. He gave me his card with the promise of an appointment at the soonest possible time.

I was on autopilot as I answered questions, exchanged pleasantries. Most they're about how he's at rest at last, all that jazz. Then, as abruptly as it began, they left. The whole ceremony probably only took a couple of hours at the most. Death always makes people uncomfortable.

They've cleared most of the chairs. One of the maintenance men murmured something about giving me a few minutes alone, and I smiled my thanks. I stood at the foot of the grave, staring six feet down. The top cover was completely covered in flowers. The rain had ceased for now; in another world, a rainbow would've come out. However, no rain was the best one can expect from this place.

The sky had taken on the faint pinkish light set off by the setting sun. What was this time called again?

"Twilight." I tested the word, hearing it aloud. I rarely hear that spoken aloud. My voice sounded weird.

Charlie had reached the twilight of his life, while I have yet to even reach the peak of mine. It seemed such a long way, and I am already tired. This place of gloom and doom and darkness seemed horribly prophetic about my future. I must have pissed off some major gods in my past life.

I briefly toy with the idea that perhaps, this is all a dream. That somewhere, in an alternate world, Bella is happily waking from a dream of graveyards to her loving family, yet to be torn apart by divorce. She was whole and undamaged. When you dream, you can't always tell that you are dreaming. Your senses betray you.

Therefore, what can be called real?

The Bella in this world, meanwhile, lifts a closed fist to her chest, as if she could plug the gaping hole in her heart. Aside from the physical pain, within her was an emotional vacuum. Or perhaps those are thick scabs, covering wounds so deep, it ruined her soul.

_I worry about your soul._

What is a soul? Is it the spark of life that animates us? Seeing Charlie's coffin was an incontestable proof of that. Surely we are more than meat, bones and fluids.

At least Charlie was free from all this.

My hands shook as I lit a cigarette. At least the act of smoking made me take deep breaths.

"Hello, Bella."

Part of my subconscious that dealt with logic was temporarily suspended. When I looked at the owner of the mellifluous voice, I was prepared to see the unnatural beauty. What surprised me was how tiny she was.

Short hair and spiky ends; canary-yellow coat that stood out like a splash of color on dull canvas. Skin as pale as paper. Golden eyes.

"You're a Cullen, I presume."

"Yes, I'm Alice."

I held out a hand, but like Esme, she ignored personal space. Instead she enveloped me in a cool, scented hug. I felt like I was made of china. I was at a complete loss. The cigarette fell from my fingers.

"I'm so sorry, Bella," she whispered to my shoulder.

"Uh- thanks." Something tells me I will lose my communication skills everytime I see a member of this family.

She held me for a bit longer, then slowly pulled away.

"How are you?"

"Everybody's been asking that." It was starting to get annoying, too.

"They're just worried about you."

"Or probably freakin' curious."

I loosened my hair clip and turned away. The trees here are probably really old and really green. Too green, probably nourished by the bone orchard of the good people of Forks. Shadows threatened from the forest edges. …. Again, that foreboding. Then I remembered the pixie beside me. She was silent, unmoving. But for the slight movement of her chest, I would've mistaken her for a fashionably-dressed statue.

"Um, listen… did you know me, from my time here?" I asked.

"You could say that."

"Mind if I asked how? I've got a horrible memory." I grinned humorlessly.

Alice grimaced, then shot a dark look at a point behind me. I was about to turn to it, but she distracted me by grabbing my hand.

"I'd love to tell you. Would you like to get together sometime? To talk?"

"Sure. Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude on your plans."

"No, it's not that, it's just—"she broke off, anguished. "There are things to say. And I've wanted to see you for so long."

This depth of emotion was beginning to puzzle me.

"Why?"

"What?" I've surprised her, which seemed like a big deal.

"Why would you say that? Esme acted as if I was a long-lost daughter. Wait." I held up a hand. "How are you related? Is she your elder sister?"

She was really uncomfortable this time.

"No, she's my mother. My adoptive mother."

My mind reeled at that, and a thousand more questions presented themselves. I opened my mouth to ask, but her phone started ringing. She smiled an apology before holding the slim gadget to her ear, turning her back to me.

It's gotten darker. Most of the traces of the ceremony were gone. Soon they'll have to cover the grave. And Renee must be in hysterics by now, waiting for my call. Good, it looks like I have things to occupy me.

I tapped Alice on the shoulder. "Sorry, I guess I have to go now."

She grabbed my hand again. "I'll see you, alright? Can I have your number?"

If this family is as physical as I think they are, I'm in a heap of trouble. I dictated my cell number as I slowly pulled my hand away. Then I took one last look at my father's grave.

Goodbye, Dad.

I felt eyes on my back as I walked away, so I tried not to slip on the wet grass. I passed a couple of fresh graves near the entrance, which seemed strange given the recent events. Did they die from the same animal attack that killed Charlie? That would explain why the natives are edgy. But Sue said they'd never catch it.

Something more on my to-do list.

A black Mercedes was parked a few spots from my truck. Its engine was idling softly, like a purring cat. Was Alice with someone else? I tried not to glance at the tinted windows as I passed, then as I started the truck with a straight face. She was still standing by the grave as I looked back, and someone was beside her, although my eyes weren't sharp enough to see who.

As expected, Renee was almost distraught when I got around to calling. Phil had to pry the phone from her hands to talk to me. He sounded like a general trying to be brave about an oncoming onslaught.

"Phil, please tell her that's not going to do any good."

"It's the hormones, Bella. The doctor said it won't be any longer now."

I imagined the perfectly tanned skin with tiny wrinkles on the forehead. My mother had married the baseball player poster boy with a lean physique and golden hair. Maybe she wanted Charlie's opposite.

"When I'm through with all this maybe I could visit. But don't get her hopes up!" I added hastily.

"Thanks, she'd love that."

After we rang off, three or four more calls came. This was more than I was used to. Apparently, word of my absence had spread to well-meaning classmates. I am baffled by their interest, since I hardly mingle with groups of more than five people.

_I dreaded mornings because it meant another round of penance. More painful exercises, more pills, more activities. I would lie on my cot shaking, my legs feeling like twin bags of needles. _

_I've agreed to be confined here in the condition that I don't be "messed with" psychologically. But the doctors are too curious about me, The nurses feel too impersonal, too prying. They all wanted to take a look at my head._

_God, please make me walk. I want to get out of here._

Unfortunately, I think the tactic backfired. Now I just shrug of invitations to more parties than I care to attend. Angela kept saying it's because I don't see myself, but I disagree. They don't see the dark, pathetic little thing I wake up to every day. They don't know my kind of dreams.

Short of killing myself, I resolved to present a serene façade to the world. I studied harder, got good grades, and never misbehaved. At least not to their knowledge. I know how to tread the line.

Speaking of grades, I have other projects pending, namely my Comparative Lit final paper. Spreading my notes on the coffee table, I took a swig of scotch and turned on my mini tape recorder.

"Romance plays a big role for ancient writers, particularly the Greeks. Most literature and art pertain to the love affairs of humans and gods, nymphs and humans, gods and gods…."

I sounded overly loud in the silence of the living room. This is a tried and tested method. It helps me organize my thoughts, I don't have the music on because I don't really listen to it anymore. I use my player when I am outside as a barrier to unwanted conversations and other city noises.

"For the Greeks, love is a great motivator. Orpheus braved Hades to bring Euridyce back to the land of the living, Zeus risked Hera's wrath repeatedly as he kept following his love, albeit of a more carnal nature, for every beautiful female that caught his eye and bore him demigod bastards."

Drinking alcohol was not a habit I regularly indulge in. Sketching alone cannot alleviate my stress, and I need an outlet to divert myself. Or perhaps I rationalize.

"Love is also what justifies their tragedies. Medea loved Jason enough to kill their children out of spite, because he left her. Paris was enamored with the already-married Helen, an affair that started an infamous war."

My professor was a self-confessed romantic. She said the finals would be easy: just write a paper on your favorite ancient love story and draw parallels, if you can, to modern literature or culture. I've read plenty of books so that shouldn't be a problem, but why does it have to be about love? I've heard someone say that if you want to write about something, you should at least try to experience it.

What do I know about this kind of love? It sounds pretty painful.

The expression "fall in love", for instance. "Fall" is the operative word. It meant to fall from a height, land with a thud, and incur bruises. When you fall, you'll probably die. I'm probably exaggerating, but I've also seen Angie and a few classmates cry over many a date to have a vague idea. Besides, how will you know if what you're feeling is the real thing?

Again, the question of reality.

We rely so much on our senses, but they are easily misled. Charlie probably fell hard for Renee, which explains why he never even dated. My mother, meanwhile, had several "serious" boyfriends. At least I never experienced horror stories I've heard about waking up to see your mother with a different man over breakfast.

When I was a kid, I thought it was normal for families to have separate houses for the mom and dad.

I'm tired. Bone-deep.

This essay was proving to be more difficult than I imagined.

At my easel was a portrait I made of Dr Cullen and Esme. I remembered the yearbook, and I ran upstairs to rummage in my bags.

There it was, in the first few pages under C.

_Cullen, Alice_

_Cullen, Edward_

Sitting at the rocking chair, I contemplated the blank spaces. _No picture available_, it said almost apologetically. The copyright page indicated that this was made after I left, the beginning of the final semester. Did they leave the same time I did? Possibly earlier?

I threw the book at the bed.

Why did it matter? I've always looked pitiful, maybe they just felt charitable. Something about them doesn't add up. But then again, I am in a house where the nearest neighbor is two blocks away. Maybe the paranoia was getting to me.

I went back down and stared at the banner of the paper I got this morning.

**Chief Swan Laid to Rest**

…_Police Chief Charles Swan, who was yet another victim of several fatal attacks to townspeople and tourists alike...._

We buried him this afternoon, and I am here with my schoolwork as if nothing happened. The world really doesn't stop for anybody.


	9. Going Places

**Standard disclaimers apply.**

The only empirically certain fact is that you exist;everything else is a matter of perception.

Rather than test the truck's capability, I commuted to Port Angeles the next day. It was nice to take a bus and see mountains instead of skyscrapers. The roads were mosaics of yellow, gold and brown.

_Brown is warm._

I stopped walking to listen, but there was nothing else. Yes, I did like brown I suppose, especially when I contemplated the prospect of living here permanently. Everything was too dark, too green. And a bit isolated. At least Port Angeles had a Wal-Mart.

Who would have asked me about my favourite color?

Faced with the prospect of wandering in a strange town, I asked for directions from a trusty deputy. Attorney Gaunt's office was located in the fancier area of the business district- good thing I was presentable enough in a long skirt and blue cardigan. My sneakers, however, still drew glances of disdain from the secretary.

Finally I was ushered in the oak paneled inner room. It resembled a library with its shelves and shelves of leather bound books. It smelled of mint, polish and hair pomade. The man himself was seated behind an antique desk.

"Good afternoon Miss Swan, and once again, my condolences."

"Thanks for seeing me at short notice." It was really short, actually. I thought of calling him a few times after I woke up, and when he did answer, he replied that I could see him in three hours.

"No problem dear, no problem at all." Waving a big, meaty hand, he smiled kindly, which set his jowls quivering. He put on a pair of gold-rimmed reading glasses and peered at a sheaf of papers in front of him.

I could see why Charlie would pick him. His down-to-earth manner was reassuring and inviting, not like the other lawyers with their legalese jargon and slim briefcases.

"Charles Swan has left you, along with his property in Forks, a sizable amount of assets. You don't have to worry because the state still recognizes your old name. You still have identification, don't you?"

I assured him that I did. That was Charlie's condition when I informed them of my decision, which he no doubt consulted with the legal department. He didn't like it but he understood my reasons. But then again...

"Sorry. How sizable is it exactly?" I was perplexed.

"This is due to the insurance premium, which covered the circumstances of his death, plus the benefits accrued during the years of government services and his life savings. Around five hundred thousand, give or take."

Indeed. After signing a few more papers, I left with a manila envelope containing documents and bank drafts in case I decided to avail of the funds (that's exactly how he put it). I stuffed this in my backpack, making the secretary grimace.

What a guy, Charlie. His idea of dressing up was a good pair of jeans and a checkered shirt. I've often wondered how they were able to afford my apartment. He even included a stipend for Renee, which would have been enough to drive her to hysterics once more.

After the bank, I took a stroll and tried to imagine myself walking these streets two years ago. I kept my head down, uneasily aware of the eyes that glanced my way. Did I have a smudge on face, a showing bra strap? A quick peek at a store window said I was still decent. In readiness for these circumstances, though not these extreme, I took out a hardbound book and held it in my right hand. It can be a surprisingly handy weapon for self-defense: just smack the edge over the attacker's windpipe or slam his face with it. I made sure to stay within the streets with the most people.

A lot of boutiques had dresses on sale in anticipation of the usual fall dances.

_I like this one; it makes my boobs look bigger._

I laughed in spite of myself. Now who was that? I probably tagged along for the dress buying, something I've always done, even in New York. Then I realized that I must've been here long enough for Prom. Not that I would've enjoyed it. I was probably miserable with the prospect of an entire night of dancing. That sobered me up pretty fast.

_Prom is an important rite of passage._

If I could just remember at least the voice, that would've gone a long way. At first I was nervous as to how being here would affect me- now every moment feels like walking on a mine field.

_I was in a mild state of catatonia after waking up._

_I kept looking in the mirrors, seeing my face. I try to bring together the broken puzzle pieces._

_This face. This nose. This small chin. This ghostly pale complexion. These thin hands. This is me._

"_I am Isabella Swan."_

_I am Isabella._

_I am Bella._

_I am._

_But why does my reflection look unconvinced?_

There really seemed to be a lot of people here today.

My feet had led me to the town square, where the Fall Festival is in full swing.

There were rides, peddlers and stalls of everything from the local produce to the handcrafted jewelry. I walked around and sampled a few goodies, like homemade cupcakes. This made me miss cooking a bit. Lately I've been in the kitchen less and less.

There was a stall that sold an excellent cup of coffee from the owner's organic coffee bean farm. I bought a small bag and cup of latte to go as I browsed some more. Renee would have loved the iron wrought candle holders. Charlie would, of course, have gravitated to the bait and tackle shops, or the gunsmiths. I looked through the second-hand books and found an excellent copy of Shakespeare's sonnets.

Then, inevitably, there were the New Age shops.

Mood rings, crystals, good luck charms to attract fortune... given the march of technology, people still need a bit of the supernatural. I bought a dreamcatcher to put in my apartment. God knows I need this.

"Care to have a peek at your future, young lady?"

The gypsy (either a real one or a good costume) smiled at me when she caught my eye. She beckoned to the tent behind her, where a smiling old lady sat behind a table with requisite crystal ball.

"Sorry I don't-"

"Please, it won't take long." She hazarded a gentle hand on my upper arm, peering in my eyes."You look like... you're looking for something. Perhaps we can help you find it."

"Everyone here is looking for something."

"But yours is much more complex, correct?"

As marketing strategies go, it was quite convincing. Or maybe I could never really bear creating a scene. Nevertheless, I was entering the tent and being asked to sit on a chair piled high with cushions.

The old lady said her name was Madame Tracy.

"What would you like me to use? Tarot cards? The crystal ball?"

I shrugged. "I don't know much about these things."

Madame Tracy narrowed her eyes for a few seconds. Then she asked for my right hand.

"You're not from around here, aren't you?" She chuckled at my raised brows.

"We've been coming to the festivals here for quite some time. People can easily identify a new face."

"I was born here, but my parents divorced."

She was stroking my palm with her jewelled fingers. As we talked, her face gradually became more and more relaxed.

"You lost someone."

"Yes, my dad. He died the day before yesterday."

"I'm sorry, but not that just that." She was frowning. "How unusual! It is a bit difficult to look through your aura."

Wow. Even my aura is complicated.

"You will have to make decisions. Extremely important ones. The answers are not that far, but you have to experience pain."

How sad. I was expecting a little more, but I know most of it already. I probably still looked battered, inside and out. I thanked her and placed some cash in the box beside her.

"Wait!" she suddenly shouted as I stood up. "Please, please... be careful. I wish I could say more."

Again, something I've heard before. But why was she so alarmed? I thanked Madame Tracy again and smiled at her assistant when I got out.

That's when I saw it.

Coats and scarves were a fashion staple in this area, and I've spotted a few peddlers in costume. But there, at the edge of the milling crowd, stood a slight figure wearing a scarlet robe. It had alabaster-white skin and was so still, it didn't even appear to breathe. The rest of the face was in shadow, but even at the distance I could sense its gaze.

On me?

"Bella?"

I turned to the sound of my name. He was another impossibly tall Quileute, and he looked older than Seth. His short hair was unevenly cut, as if it was hacked off. Despite the weather, he was wearing a sleeveless shirt and sandals. He was carrying a bag of groceries on one arm.

_I've found her, Charlie._

"Bella? Are you okay?" He asked again, coming closer.

"Yes. I'm sorry, I-" That's all I've been saying, apparently.

"It's okay. I'm Sam."

"Yes, Sam. Billy was upset that you sent Seth to drive him home."

"Yes." He smiled. "Are you going somewhere else?"

I looked back, but the hooded figure was gone. When I faced him, he was looking at the same spot with undisguised hostility. Something flashed in his eyes.

"Sam?"

He blinked, and his face smoothed out. "That was nothing. Would you like me to drive you? Do you have your truck?"

"No, I took the bus."

He nodded and asked me to follow him. We walked for a few yards to the parking lot near the county market.

What made him angry? Something cautioned me about asking outright.

His ride was a more solid version of my truck. Opening the door for me, he waited until I was seated before going to the driver's side. The groceries were deposited in the backseat.

The rain had started falling again.

"What were you doing there anyway?"

"Visiting Dad's lawyer. I wanted to look around a bit."

"Nothing much to see, though."

"I don't know about that." I was thinking of the gypsies and my apparent stalker.

"It'll all come back in time, you know. You don't have to rush it."

That was unexpected. It was the first time anyone from here talked about my "condition."

"Thanks." I ran my hands through my hair. "I was hoping it'll be like the movies, you know, the moment I got back."

Sam had an air of authority about him, making him look more mature than he was. Charlie always said they were his friends, and I felt safe with him.

"Things are not always what they seem," he reminded me.

He pointed out the turn for the reservation and I made a note of it. I also noted that he made no mention whatsoever about what we saw at the fair.

_...they were descendants from the enemy clan._

_"Jacob is out. I haven't heard from him."__  
_

"Sam? Could you tell me about Jacob?"

He frowned, but he didn't evade the question.

"Jake was in an accident a couple of years ago. He felt pretty guilty, I guess, so he asked permission to travel and clear his mind."

The time was interesting. "Was that after I left?"

"Something like that," he hedged. "Yours on the other hand...it devastated Charlie. We all thought you were dead."

In a manner of speaking. But he wasn't entirely uncooperative.

"Can I ask you something more?"

"Sure." He looked like I was about to ask him to eat fire.

"When I lived here- I got lost. Were you the one who found me?"

"You remember that?"

"A bit," I bluffed. "Not all of it though."

"I was part of the rescue team, yes."

A rescue team?

"Was that when I fell?"

"No. It was before."

I thought about asking more, but decided against it. Sam looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. By now we have reached the house. I thanked him once more and waved goodbye as he drove away.

That night I sat in the tub, contemplating the scar battlefield that was my body. Most of them had faded, but some still stood out like warning flags. There was the shadow of a bruise on my calf as I fell in the gap between the train and the platform during my first month in college. I remember the casts I wore on both legs and the cold grip of the metal braces that forced me up. There were stitches on my back, and on one shoulder. Another slim line ran down my right inner arm.

_Fragile little human._

The half moon scar was the most unusual-it felt colder than the rest of my body. On closer inspection, it looked like... a bite mark? Of what? It wasn't big enough for a bear, small for a dog and too wide for a cat.

A fragile human. Of that there is no doubt. Madame Tracy said I have to experience pain to find my answers.

Will it be worth it?

The quality of light fooled me again when I got out of the bath; it was only a few minutes past five. I took out a platter of lasagna and heated it in the microwave.

_You talk, I'll eat._

I was staring at the head of the dinner table. I must've had at least a few visitors, right?

_My journal, January 2006._

_Hi, I'm Bella._

_I love pasta._

_I like coffee._

_I prefer staying in rather than going to the mall._

_I hate math. And physical education._

_I don't like going places, especially far ones._

The television was on for background noise. I brooded, picking at the food. I wasn't hungry, but I have to have something.

I was a danger magnet, but not to such fatal extent.

Lost. Bitten. Fell.

Extreme words, even for someone of my disposition.

I remember the months after. I was obsessed with knowing me, my "old" personality. Imagine a void so deep that I can't fathom the bottom; this is what I see everytime I close my eyes.'

Going up my room once more, I looked at bottom of my bags. Inside was the slim folder of a few sketches I chose to bring with me. Most of them were about my new life, a few scenarios and a self-portrait. A few still managed to mystify even me, especially those I made after restless nights.

A young man standing half in shadow; naked from the waste up. Another one of the same man, these time his back to me. The collar of his coat was turned up. The last one was a close-up, of him with his hands over his face, save for an eye peeping between the beautiful fingers. His face was frustratingly empty, save for the hints of a nose and mouth. The hair was tousled, and one could almost feel its silky texture.

Was he a product of my frustration?

_Is this real?_

_Am I real?_

_Am I Bella, or Marie dreaming of Bella?_

What scares me is that there is nobody I could ask.


	10. Unraveling

_Have come. Am here._

I laid the pictures out beside me as I sat on the worn carpet, my back to the side of the bed. These are definitely the best pieces I have done so far…should I have them framed? But that would mean that he'll be out for anyone to see. Why am I feeling this possessive in the first place? He's-and I never noticed how I am referring to an object as "he"-probably an amalgam of the most beautiful faces I have seen so far. Goodness knows my first few lessons of nude painting made my eyes water. And the city was a natural habitat of beautiful people.

_Look at me, and well...look at you._

Is it that simple, though? If it did happen that I met such a magnificent species here, surely Charlie would've had a fit. That, and he'll pester me with an endless supply of mace. I am not particularly ugly, but I know that I am not fetching enough to catch a hot-blooded male's wandering eye. I was always cynical about the spare bits of attention I happen to get. Let's face it, I don't look like someone worth "it", whatever that was. I don't know how to get by most days; surely another person, a Male at that, is enough to stress me out.

Then, louder than a gunshot, a scream tore the night.

Sitting up straighter, I made a quick inventory of the locks and bolts downstairs. When the scream came again, I almost jumped. It was getting closer!

I stumbled downstairs for the phone. Thank the stars that I was lazy enough not to turn on all the lights.

"911,what's your emergency?"

"Somebody's being attacked outside my house."

The next scream was followed by a growl louder than thunder.

Ohmigod, what was that? It was from the general direction of the backyard. The headset slipped from my sweaty palms as I started overturning drawers. It'll probably take a couple of minutes longer to trace the call, and I'd hate to be dead by then. I hit pay dirt when I chanced upon the old fishing gear closet.

Charlie's service revolver felt cold even against my clammy skin.

During this time the fight was getting louder. Yes, it was definitely a fight. As to between what or whom, it sounded like mountain lions and banshees. It was disconcerting to contemplate the distance from the town proper and the nearest neighbors. Keeping a low profile, I walked the surprisingly impossible distance from the living room to the kitchen. This feels like a bad episode of a crime series, and I am the inept would-be victim.

Funny how the mind snatches inane information out of nowhere to keep one occupied. Perhaps that small sense of unreality helped to keep my nerves in check. Nevertheless, I looked out the window…to nothing. The security lights had a limited visibility range, and the moonless sky was no help. If those things looked as big as they sounded, what good would two wooden doors be for protection? I slid down to the floor and held my breath.

After what felt like a really long time, the sounds abruptly stopped. What came next was the surprising sound of rending metal. Metal? More like a car being sawed in half. Then came big, padding footsteps pacing back and forth. I ran out of air the same time it became clear that the creature was headed _towards_ the house. I crouched even lower, tightened my grip, shut my eyes.

Somebody knocked.

"Bella? It's Seth."

The gun clattered on the tiles as I hurriedly moved the bolts back. Seth was leaning against the door jamb, panting, his face and torso covered with gashes. Deep ones. His hair was wet, but it wasn't water. It was red.

* * *

The entire Forks Police Department came, which probably meant that they recognized who I was pretty quickly. Seth refused to be treated by paramedics, although he allowed them to clean him up and wrap him in a thick blanket. I screamed for the better part of a minute before he caught my attention by collapsing on me, so I had no choice but to shut up and try to drag him in. It was like pulling a log.

They made us sit by the kitchen table as officers came with high-powered lights to search the forest. Seth said he was hungry, so I scrounged the fridge and found a pie for him. Somebody put a mug of coffee in front of me. My hands and arms looked as if I've been painting in one color.

Strangely enough, my fear of the coppery smell was gone. Perhaps it was due to constant exposure?

It was fascinating to watch my companion. His dark hair was matted with blood and earth, but he was going at the pie like he hadn't eaten in weeks. The gashes looked like they've stopped bleeding, and have started…closing. But that's impossible, isn't it?

Inspector Jamieson may be the new chief, but he was amazingly hands-on. He walked past us, then doubled back in. He looked relieved to see both of us in one piece. Pulling out a chair, he sat on it heavily.

"Everything okay, Bella?"

I nodded. For what felt like the third or fourth time, he made me tell him what happened. He scribbled notes in his small notebook and made non-committal noises as I talked. The gun lay at the center of the table like an accusation.

"Now," he said, turning to Seth. "Care to tell me what happened, son?"

This is getting more interesting. The officers talked to us separately, and I've been itching to hear what he has to say.

Seth wiped his face with a corner of the blanket.

"We decided to go hunting this afternoon."

"We?"

"My friends and I."

"You do know that there is an existing ordinance against unsupervised hunting and hiking?"

"Yeah, but we didn't plan on going far. Plus we were on rez land, so we thought it was okay. I got separated from them, so I decided to go a bit further. That's when I saw the bear."

"A bear?"

"Yeah, big guy." He held up both arms. "It was running. I wanted to see where it would go, so I went after it."

"Now, let me clarify. You ran after a fully-grown black bear, running at full speed?"

Seth shrugged. "I used some of the old trails. It wasn't that fast yet, anyway. When I saw where it was headed, I figured I had to do something."

The chief wasn't the only one getting confused. Bears, if set to it, are known to be quite fast despite their bulk. There is also the matter of Seth's thin frame versus a complete set of claws and raw force.

"Alright." He looked slightly happier when he looked past my shoulder.

I turned to look. It was Sam and Billy, along with another elder whom I presumed to be Seth's dad based on the resemblance. He left us to have a conversation with them by the front door. Sam looked grave. Billy looked furious. Mr Clearwater nodded when he saw me looking. They all shook hands with the chief, then went over to us. Seth was already sleeping, but he woke up with Sam's punch to his shoulder.

"How are you, Bella?"

"I'm fine, Billy, thanks."

"This is Harry Clearwater."

I stood up to shake his hand.

He might have said something else, but I was too busy watching Seth and Sam. They were talking in their dialect, laughing. Sam even poked one of his wounds.

Laughing?

Then they said they were leaving.

"Wait!" I went after them. "Won't Seth be needing stitches, or something?"

"We have our ways." Harry laid a hand on my shoulder. "Thank you for taking my son in."

"Bye, Bella. Sorry to scare you like that." The sheepish smile was in place again.

"It looks like you saved my life, Seth. Thanks." I leaned up to kiss his cheek. He tried not to blush too much, but it was quite obvious. They drove away in Sam's truck.

The neighbors have begun to converge in front of the house, some of them going so far as to wave at me. I resisted the urge to flip them off. Chief Jamieson was scratching his head when he went to stand beside me.

"They haven't found any good prints. Ground was dry. Something thrashed up the forest pretty good, though."

"Will I get in trouble for using dad's gun?"

"No," he answered quickly. "Of course not. We'll take care of that. It doesn't add up, though…"

"What?"

He looked uncomfortable. "Charlie reported a similar incident a week before he died. Bella? Bella?"

I had crumpled to the floor.

* * *

The smell hit me first upon waking: that harsh disinfectant odor masking other traces of blood and antibiotics. My eyes opened to the off-white pillows and sheets. It was anticlimactic to see that I don't have any needles in me, or any wounds for that matter. The nurse squealed when she saw me, and rushed off. She came back with the last doctor I expected to see.

"How are you feeling, Bella?" A cool hand touched my forehead.

"Dr Cullen?" I sat up. "I thought you quit."

"Seeing as I have nothing better to do as of the moment, I am here on a voluntary basis until my family finishes our business." He dismissed the hovering nurse with a brilliant smile, who preened as she went out. I can't blame her. Dr Cullen in a white coat is every bit as scrumptious as Dr Cullen in casuals.

"I hope you don't mind," he said as he checked my pulse. "I had you admitted when you came in last night. I'm sorry about what happened at your home."

"Thanks, Doc-"

"Carlisle."

"Er-thanks, Carlisle."

"You look terribly underweight."

Caught. My cheeks began to heat up. "I've had a lot on my mind."

"Have you been having other problems?"

"Just migraines. Really bad ones." My glasses were on the bedside table. I wiped the lenses on the sheet before putting them on.

"Have you had your eyes checked?"

"Yes, these are only a couple of months old." My right hand crept up my scalp like it did a thousand times before, trying to feel a scar.

"Perhaps…I could arrange for another professional to see you. Would you like that?"

I shrugged. "Have you treated me before?"

There was a pause as he read through his chart. "I'm afraid I'll have to consult my records, although I do believe that is possible. This is not a particularly large hospital."

I brushed away the disappointment. He has helped me enough. God knows what I would've had to put through if I stayed through the investigation.

"Thanks. I guess you're pretty popular here."

"Let me see what I can do." He glanced at the door. "And now I do believe you'll soon have company."

He excused himself as Chief Jamieson (I have to remember that) himself came in. He had a copy of my statement for me to sign. The folder was wet around the edges.

"Nothing else to report, save for the remains of a bonfire a few hundred yards from your house. Will you be returning there?"

"Of course. It's Dad's house."

"Do you have a friend or relative that could keep you company?'

"I'm sorry. I don't."

He pondered that. "Then please don't hesitate to call when something happens again."

"Do you really think that was a bear?"

"No, I don't. But that's the best possible explanation we have for the moment. Do you have plans of hiking in the woods?"

That was off left. "I guess. Why?"

"Don't leave without letting another person, or the station, know where you are going and what time you will be returning. Best to keep your mobile phone with you at all times. And don't go out after dark."

"Is this because of what happened to Dad?"

He looked grayer than when I first saw him. "Charlie was another victim. There have been increasing reports of attacks on hikers, and he was investigating that when it happened."

"Can I ask what really killed him?"

"We don't know yet. But the official angle is that he caught the attacker at work, and it rounded on him. Another body was nearby, it was a local trucker."

"Yes, but what did they die from?"

"This is strictly confidential, alright?" I nodded. "It was from multiple lacerations mostly on the neck, torso and thighs."

So that was why the coffin was closed. "I guess Seth was lucky."

"Unbelievably so."

_If_ that was an animal. Suddenly all this rustic woodlands charm of Forks seemed more menacing.

He said goodbye and left. I curled up my legs and put my hands over my head. But I wasn't given much time to think. Dr Cullen soon returned with someone else.

"Bella, I do believe you've met my daughter Alice."

The beautiful pixie smiled brightly as she took my hand. She was wearing a dress that could best be described as a Renoir painting, paired with a par of white gloves and matching white pumps.

"Hello, Bella. I chose the pajamas for you. Hospital gowns are so tacky." She rolled her eyes.

That's when I noticed what I was wearing. It was royal blue set, made of satin, and something definitely not mine.

"Thanks. They're…really comfy."

"I'll just leave you girls here while I prepare your discharge papers. You can leave today, Bella." He smiled at us before he left.

"I brought you some clothes," Alice said. She gave me a paper bag. I smiled again as I excused myself to go to the tiny bathroom.

She thought of everything, apparently. There was a small bag of toiletries which I immediately put to use. There was my favorite pair of jeans, my sneakers, and one of my best shirts. There was, however, an additional item. It was a deep blue jacket. I was holding it as I opened the door.

"Is something wrong?"

I stepped back. She was standing just outside the door, and I never had a clue.

"Thanks for the clothes. It's just that, the pajamas and the coat—"

"Oh, those are mine. I haven't used them in a while. The coat was from Esme. She said I should insist if you refuse."

I laughed. "Well, thanks again."

She took the bag from me.

"Would you like me to brush your hair?"

"Alright."

We sat on the bed. Her touch was soothing as she ran the bristles through my scalp.

"Why did you color it, Bella?"

"I…I felt like I needed a fresh start." Not to mention looking at a mirror back then was an upsetting experience.

"It's nice, but the old color was nicer."

"Maybe someday. Er—will you be driving me home?"

"Would you like me to?"

"Yes, very much."

She smiled, then hugged me briefly.

"How did you know where I was?"

"Carlisle told us. He was on duty when they brought you in, and I went to see you right away."

We walked out to the lobby, all eyes turning to my beautiful escort. It was nice not to be in the center of attention for the first time since I came here. There was also the feeling that I've done this before.

Hospitals are not exactly my favorite places, no matter how often I end up in one. Something about them makes me uncomfortable. Underneath the efficiency is a pervading sense of despair, of pain, of death. As a patient walks out the door, another gets wheeled in the morgue. Or maybe all this gloomy weather is making me more morbid than usual.

She went ahead to get her car. The nurse at the registration desk made me sign few more papers.

"Thanks, Miss Swan."

"Swan? Isabella Swan?"

The almost-screech came from a washed-out blond in a wheelchair being pushed by an orderly. She had a baby in her arms.

"Lauren Mallory. Remember me? Wait." She sneered before I could answer. "They did say you joined the bandwagon. Only goes to show what's really popular, huh?" Her thin hand waved at her limp locks.

She kept talking, and I kept looking down at her. The animosity was simply stunning. She's probably one of the queen bees in the convoluted high school hierarchy. The question remains as to how I earned her wrath.

"Living in New York, fancy clothes, great lifestyle. Too bad your boyfriend dumped you, or it'll be pretty as a picture."

That's enough. "I'm sorry…Lauren, was it? Yeah, I hardly remember high school. It was pretty bland. When I bleached my hair, I made sure my brain cells didn't get affected. I'm glad it didn't turn me to a vapid bitch."

I was shaking with rage by the time I walked out to the entrance. I would've throttled her with my bare hands if she hadn't been carrying a spawn of hers. Christ, what a bloody bitch. I was too upset to focus on that to contemplate what she had to say.

My attention was caught by a loud honk, which came from a sleek yellow Corvette gliding towards me. Alice rolled down the window and grinned.

"Hop in."

I checked my shoes if they were clean before I opened the passenger door. My hands ran over my hair, and my back plastered to the seat. Deep breaths….

"Cheer up. There are worst ways to end up after high school."

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing. You look like you've just seen thunder."

"No. Just a sad prom queen wannabe."

* * *

The house, for lack of a better word, was a disaster.

There was an attempt to keep people off by yellow lines of the do-not-cross variety, but that was the best part. Something bothered me as I got out of the car, and it became glaringly obvious as I walked up the front steps. The front door was torn off its hinges. The living room was full of feathers and stuffing, the chairs overturned and slashed open. My books, my laptop, my notes! Papers scattered the floor.

Alice cursed and got her phone out, but she was talking too fast for me to understand. The television set had a broken screen. The pictures-God, the pictures Charlie had kept all these years-the faces were scratched out, the frames broken. Broken glass was everywhere. I ran up the stairs. Just as I expected, my room did not fare any better. It looked worse. My pillows were also slashed open, my clothes and luggage torn to rags.

"Please no, please no, please no…." My world was unraveling and I feel this horrible sense of inevitability, like watching a car roll downhill.

I hurriedly stepped amongst the debris, my hands pushing away remains of my books, my pictures, my life…my pictures. Oh. Fucking. No.

"Bella?"

Alice stood at the door.

The pieces of his pictures were in my hands, like so much confetti. Whoever the vandals were, they enjoyed this particular task.

"I'm sorry, Alice." My voice was amazingly steady. "Looks like I can't offer you even a cup of coffee."

Then I laughed, long and loud.


End file.
